


Their Own Place

by Jay_Washington



Series: Rewrite the Stars Oneshots [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Sad Ending, Teen Angst, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Washington/pseuds/Jay_Washington
Summary: Feeling estranged from the rest of the people who returned for the eighth year, Draco Malfoy heads to the Quidditch Pitch, the only place he feels at home. But it seems that he won't be able to get away from one of his problems: Harry Potter.





	Their Own Place

Draco was starting to think that returning for an eighth year at Hogwarts might’ve been a mistake. He’d never been the biggest fan of Hogwarts, but being at the school—however quiet it was after the final battle—was better than being at home, trapped in the cursed silence between his parents.

He’d known that he would be among the small few of his class to return for the supplemental year, but he’d never expected one of those few to be Harry Potter. He’d expected to see Hermione—he would’ve been surprised if she _hadn’t_ shown up—but not even in Draco’s wildest dreams had he imagined that Harry would be there too.

Even more incredulous was the thought that if Draco were to try to talk to Harry, Harry would actually want to _talk_ to Draco. The most Draco could hope for was a nod of acknowledgement, especially after everything that had happened between them: the rejected handshake, the entirety of their fifth year, the broken nose.

But there were also a few, recent good things—the time at the Manor and, of course, the moment when he’d made the decision to throw Harry his wand. He didn’t want to think about which memories Harry would remember first.

And so, Draco once again found himself on the empty Quidditch Pitch, one of the few places that he’d actually missed. On the Pitch, he didn’t have to be Draco Malfoy. He wasn’t a son trying to make up for the mistakes of his father, or even the boy who had been chosen to help someone else fight against their destiny.

No, out here, he could just be a boy on his broom.

If Draco were honest with himself, he wished he had someone to be there with him. As he took his time lacing up his riding gloves, Draco found his thoughts one again wandering back to Harry Potter.

He shook his head. He couldn’t afford to have thoughts about Harry Potter, especially not when Harry Potter probably wasn’t even thinking about him. And why would he? Harry’s destiny had been written long before Draco had met him.

For Draco, however, it seemed that the stars had a different plan. And, it turned out, a cruel sense of humor.

Despite his obvious talent, Harry Potter still wasn’t the smartest or the most powerful wizard. Draco was pretty sure Harry only knew one spell, and it was one that he tirelessly overused. Harry would never fit in with the admittedly snobbish company that Draco was used to being around—even if he changed his clothes, he’d be hopelessly lost in Draco’s world.

And still, Draco knew, without a doubt, that he was hopelessly in love with him. With Harry James Potter.

It hadn’t been until his sixth year, in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, that he’d first realized it. Myrtle was trying her best to console him, but there were someone else’s arms that Draco had longed for. When he’d looked up into the mirror, he saw _him_.

Harry James Potter. _The Chosen One_.

And in that moment, as Harry stared at him, wand raised, with a face contorted with confusion and anger at the same time, Draco hated him.

He hated him for being there to see his weakness, for being this pestering shadow since the beginning of the year. But most of all, Draco hated himself for knowing how relieved he was that Harry was there with him.

Draco took his feelings—his suffering, his hatred, his anguish—and pushed it into his magic as he raised his wand. He wanted Harry to feel the same way he did: “ _Cruci_ —“

“ _Sectumsempra_ ,” Harry yelled, his wand barely rising in time to point at Draco before the spell completed.

Upon the spell’s contact, Draco’s face and chest had suddenly begun to spurt out blood, and he collapsed on the bathroom floor. As he had lain there on that waterlogged floor, blinded by pain, one thing had slowly begun to come into focus: Harry James Potter.

Harry Potter was leaning over him, his eyes flooded with tears. It was then that Draco had realized he truly hated the idea of Harry being hurt. His body trembled with pain and fear, but he was grateful that he was on the floor and not Harry.

He never wanted to cause Harry Potter pain.

The sound of someone else’s footsteps snapped Draco back to attention. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see who it was and almost messed up his laces as he caught Harry’s eyes.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded his head toward the riding gloves. “Need help with your laces?”

“No,” Draco said immediately, definitively. He pulled the final loop into a tight knot, grabbed his broom, and shuffled past Harry. He had half a mind to leave, but to do so now would be even more embarrassing. He only hoped Harry wouldn’t follow him.

Yet again, fate took the chance to laugh at him. It wasn’t long before Harry joined Draco on the Pitch. For a while, Draco tried flying around the outer ring, doing tricks every so often in an attempt to dissuade Harry from following him. But when it became obvious to Draco that Harry wasn’t going to give up—the persistence that he was both in awe of and annoyed with—he leaned back into a stop. It was then, as Harry met him on the same level, that Draco realized Harry was covered in a thick layer of dust.

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco muttered as he pulled out his wand, “what did you do to yourself? Go for a romp in the Forbidden Forest? _Tergeo_.” A flow of white steam emerged from the tip of his wand, syphoning the dust from Harry’s body.

Harry scratched the back of his neck and said, “I’ve been looking for you, actually.”

Had he been on the ground, Draco was sure his knees would’ve turned into water. As it was, he had a difficult time maintaining his balance on the broom. “And you thought you’d find me in that cesspit of filth?”

“Well, I had a feeling you were here, but everyone I asked said they hadn’t seen you on the grounds, so I went there.”

Draco’s thin eyebrow rose in amusement. “I didn’t realize you were so fond of me, Potter.”

“I was trying to thank you,” said Harry indignantly. When he realized Draco didn’t have anything to say to that, Harry pressed on. “I’ve been trying to do that for weeks now, actually, but you can be an incredibly hard person to track down.”

Draco shrugged and put his wand back into his robes. “Well, no use beating around the bush, Potter. If you’ve got something to say, now’s the time.”

“The Room of Requirement,” Harry blurt out, as if that was the answer to all of Draco’s questions. “You tried to stop the Fiendfyre.”

“Don’t thank me for something I didn’t succeed in doing. Besides, I didn’t thank you for getting me out of the room.”

“You still can,” said Harry as he moved to circle around Draco. “I’d love to hear you actually compliment my flying for once.”

Draco couldn’t help but snort at that. “In your dreams, Potter. Your balance was absolutely abysmal.”

Harry jolted forward as his broom suddenly came to an almost screeching halt. “I was carrying you,” he sputtered accusingly. “Not to mention we were in a room full of fire!”

Draco turned his broom around and started to fly toward the goal posts. “I never knew you were one to make excuses, Potter,” he said over his shoulder. “But there’s no need to be embarrassed—your amateur flying skills are to be expected after you spent so long out of practice.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still out of practice,” Harry admitted as he moved himself back into Draco’s view. “But if it bothers you so much, I could always come by the Manor. I’m sure your Mum’s got you the biggest field to fly on at home.”

“No,” Draco said, laughing into his sweater, “she’d kill me if I flew too close to her gardens.”

Harry didn’t miss a beat: “We’ll just have to find our own place to practice, then.”

“What, with you and Weasel King? And, I assume, Granger as well?”

“They don’t have to,” Harry said with a shrug. “I actually meant just the two of us. We could find our own place to practice.”

“ _Our_ own place,” he whispered. “I’m not sure such a thing exists. What you’re looking for is impossible, Potter.”

Harry threw his head back and laughed, the loud, rambunctious laugh that Draco had only witnessed a few times in his life—always watching from the side. “We live in a world of _magic_. For crying out loud, Draco, we’re flying on brooms! If _that’s_ not impossible, how can you say anything else is?”

Draco’s head snapped up, just in time to see Harry’s face burn red. “What did you just say?”

“Just that we’re flying on brooms.”

“Not that, idiot.” Draco leaned forward on his handle until he was close enough to make out Harry’s scar. “You called me Draco just now.”

Harry tried to wave his hand dismissively, but Draco wasn’t the least bit convinced by the movement. “Don’t think anything of it, Malfoy.”

“You can’t go back on it now, _Potter_ ,” said Draco with a smirk. “You’ve already said it once—might as well commit to it now.”

“You’ve said my name too,” Harry pointed out.

Draco pulled back on his broom and turned his body so that he swiveled away from Harry. “Yes, but I’ve never used it on its own.”

He was two broom lengths away from Harry, far enough away that if the wind hadn’t stilled between them, Draco wouldn’t have heard Harry whisper, “I wish you would.”

“Yeah, well, it’s about time you don’t get something you wished for.” With a firm push, Draco guided his broom to the ground. He had to get away from the Pitch, from Harry Potter. He’d lost too much of himself—he’d almost forgotten that this shared moment of emotional intimacy could only exist here. Once they got back to the school, the walls would return.

“Listen, mate— _Draco_ ,” Harry said suddenly. “Things don’t have to be this way.”

“Well, of course _you’d_ say that,” Draco spit out. “Everything’s always come easy to you, hasn’t it, Potter?”

Harry blocked his path when Draco tried to move past him. “You think anything I’ve gotten in my life has come easily for me? My parents—“

“Spare me yet _another_ retelling of your pitiful orphan status, Potter. Believe it or not, it does get old. And I’ve got plenty enough to feel sorry about without you shoving _that_ in my face as well.” He leaned his broom against its placeholder, but couldn’t seem to remove his fist from the handle.

Finally, Harry broke the silence: “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you get mixed in with the wrong sort again.”

Draco’s heart leapt in its cage. In the space between them, Harry filled it by extending his hand. “I can help you,” Harry said. “I want to help you. And I know you want it, too.”

A dry laugh passed through Draco’s teeth. “Thanks, but I think I can tell the wrong kind for myself.”

“I’m serious, Draco! I should’ve taken your hand in our first year—I’m trying to offer mine now. I’m sorry I didn’t try to be your friend before. I was young and stupid and was so caught up in being the Boy Who Lived and what that meant in this war that I didn’t realize you weren’t given much of a choice either.”

Harry’s hand began to tremble, but he kept it out in front of him. “I wish I could go back and change things, but I can’t. All I can do now is try to make up for it. I’m sorry that it took me eighteen years to realize that, all this time, you and I have wanted the same things, fought for the same cause.”

Draco was shaking too now. There was no way Harry Potter had figured out the truth—unless Hermione had deduced it a long time ago and told him herself. He licked his lips and tried to settle his nerves as he said, “And what would that be?”

“Love,” said Harry, his green eyes shifting up to meet Draco’s. “All this time, we’ve both been trying to do what we thought was best in order to protect the people we love. And, if you’ll allow me to, I still want to do that. With you.”

A weight settled over Draco’s heart. “I already told you, Potter—it’s about time you don’t get what you want.”

Guilt flooded over him, but Draco knew better than to give into it now. He couldn’t get Harry involved in his family, in his past. He knew the world—Wizard or Muggle—would never have a place to offer them. It was hopeless. The Boy Who Lived and the Boy Who Had No Choice were never meant to have been friends.

Or anything more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third installment of my "Rewrite the Stars" oneshot series! Hope you've enjoyed! Don't forget to leave a comment!


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